


You Had Me All Along

by Val_Creative



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF Kink Meme, Canon Era, F/M, Forest Sex, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Mutual Pining, Older Arya, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-05 01:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12180360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: She's no lady love of his. She'sno oneof anyone's to be claimed or owned.





	You Had Me All Along

**Author's Note:**

> I know the long winter has come, and it's gonna be two years, but that doesn't mean we can't have some more Gendrya! Surprise surprise this was a prompt was out of the asoiaf kink meme and it's " **[arya/gendry. hot kisses in the forest.](https://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com/20758.html?thread=13607702#t13607702)** " LET'S KEEP THE FANDOM ALIVE! ♥ Thoughts/comments appreciated!

 

*

She's no lady love of his. She's _no one_ of anyone's to be claimed or owned.

Winter lives in her bones, howling and rigid and ever-demanding obedience. Her mouth, lacking of colour and softness, has kissed the cusps of tragedy and decay, over and over, and _over_.

Gendry doesn't fear the penumbra of her heart or Arya's grief. He runs his hands into her snarl of brown hair, caressing and setting little, tender pecks to Arya's brow and eyelids, as she trembles and beats her fists and murmurs out half-arsed curses with _Gendry, Gendry, hells_ …

The temperature rises under the waning sunlight, high in the glade, with its faded, orange leaves. Rough, wet fabric sticks Gendry's armpits, as well as front of Arya's loosened tunic.

His fingers tremble harder than she does, ripping away the broken lacings, until the tunic-material slips over the tops of Arya's bared shoulders, exposing her chest trickling in perspiration.

He vividly imagines her just like this, sitting upon a high-back, weirwood throne back in Winterfall, in a great, lone hall covered in marble and glittering glass and dusty, old arras.

Steel and hoarfrost would be her brow — a crown of pointed daggers, tall as a forefinger. Quick-sharp as Arya's temper could be, and brilliantly embossed in plated silver as House Stark's sigil.

Her love would be infinite and treacherous, carrying a warmth unmatched by any ruler…

Arya's lips clash to his, interrupting his thoughts, hot and opening wider. Gendry feels the raw-jolt scrape of her bottom, scabbed lip. "Take it easy, Arry, _easy_ ," he whispers, groaning out a laugh when Arya scoffs and bites his jaw lightly. "I'm not going anywhere…"

" _No, you're damn well not,_ " she says stubbornly, muttering and yanking apart his breeches.

Another laugh. Gendry smiles into another kiss, his eyes crinkling.

She cannot be claimed — but he's perfectly alright with Arya doing the _claiming_ for him.

*

 


End file.
